Independence
by Magical Black Unicorn
Summary: AU. After losing two friends, Harry decides to become independent. This new path will lead him through tough situations - right to the Dark Lord. To join or not to join? Everything depends on Harry's decision. Dark!Harry, eventual HP/TR slash.
1. I

**Disclaimer: **I own absolutely nothing you recognize.  
><strong>Warnings: <strong>AU, violence, torture, gore, language, slash.  
><strong>Author's Notes: <strong>This is an AU story, though the first part is based loosely on GoF.  
>Yes, I have altered the events of PoA, and in general followed the movie rather than the book.<br>The first part of this first chapter is **dark**, and includes past character death(s). You have been warned!

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter One – Back to School<span>**

Fourteen-year-old Harry Potter was standing on Platform Nine and Three Quarters, at King's Cross station in London. He was about to board the bright purple Hogwarts Express. The train would then take Harry, along with the other students, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry that was located somewhere in Scotland. Harry would begin his fourth year.

The previous year had been a turning point in Harry's life. He had learned he had a godfather, who had spent twelve years in Azkaban, the Wizarding prison, for a crime he had never committed.

A few hours after the revelation in the Shrieking Shack, Sirius Black had been Kissed by a Dementor.

Harry and one of his best friends, Hermione Granger, had used Hermione's Time-Turner to travel back into the past to prevent the death of Buckbeak the Hippogriff and the Kissing of Sirius. However, things had gone wrong.

Professor Lupin, who had transformed into his werewolf form – it had been a night of the full moon – had run after Harry and Hermione, who had been hiding in the Forbidden Forest while their past selves were in the Shack with Ron, Sirius, Lupin and Snape.

Neither of the teens had considered what would happen after Hermione imitated a werewolf's howl to attract Lupin away from past-Harry, and that had cost them dearly. The werewolf, with its superior speed and agility, had caught up to the thirteen-year-olds, and attacked Hermione. Harry had frozen on the spot, watching in horror as the beast sank its razor-sharp teeth in the girl's neck.

It had been a quick, although terrible death.

Then, just as the werewolf was about to lunge at Harry, who was oblivious to everything except Hermione's lifeless body, Buckbeak galloped from behind the boy, threatening to hit the monster with his powerful hooves. Faced with an angry Hippogriff, the werewolf had fled. Unfortunately, its attack had caused the Time-Turner to smash.

Faced with the simple fact that there was nothing he could do to help Hermione, Harry broke down. Leaning against Buckbeak, the third-year wept, mourning the loss of a great friend and brilliant witch.

When Harry had finally recovered enough to leave the Forest, he realized he was most likely too late to save Sirius. The man would get Kissed by the Lake, just like the first time. Dumbledore would then arrive, driving away the Dementors with his Phoenix Patronus before the foul creatures would have the chance to Kiss Harry and Hermione as well.

Harry had hurried toward the Lake, just in case. However, all he had seen had been Dumbledore and Snape conjuring stretchers to get the two teens to the Hospital Wing. Ron was already lying on a third hovering stretcher.

Hermione and Harry's mission had failed, dreadfully. Buckbeak had gotten away, yes, but Sirius and Hermione had not survived.

Harry had spent three quarters of the summer mourning those two people. His fourteenth birthday had been gloomier than any of the previous July 31sts during Harry's life at the Dursleys'.

In the end, though, the green-eyed teen had run out of tears, and his ability of feeling sorrow had temporarily vanished. That rainy day in mid-August had been the day when Harry Potter became as independent as was possible for a minor like him. He would no longer need adults watching his back, nor would he need brighter friends to get him through the yearly exams. Harry also realized he had been under-achieving for the past three years.

When in Muggle primary school, Harry had always been forced to do worse than his idiot of a cousin. Apparently that had gone on for so long Harry had not even noticed he had not done his best at Hogwarts.

That was about to change.

All in all, a very changed Harry Potter boarded the Hogwarts Express on September 1st, 1994.

He managed to find an empty compartment, and quickly entered it. After placing his trunk on the luggage rack above the bench, Harry let his beautiful snowy owl, Hedwig, out of her cage. She was his first and truest friend, her large amber eyes watching him with affection.

"You're such a magnificent owl; you know that, don't you, Hedwig?" Harry asked the bird, stroking her silky feathers.

Hedwig hooted softly in response, gently nipping at Harry's fingers.

The compartment door then opened, admitting a tall, redheaded boy.

As soon as Ron Weasley spotted Harry sitting by the window, he gave an audible growl and left, slamming the door shut behind him.

Oh, yes. Harry had forgotten about Ron blaming him for Hermione's tragic death… as if there had been anything Harry could have done to stop the rampaging werewolf - the werewolf who was currently on the run from the Ministry. From what Harry had gathered Dumbledore had helped Lupin leave the country, because he was wanted for murder. The Headmaster had gotten in trouble after it was discovered he had hired a werewolf, aware of the Lycanthropy the man suffered from. According to the Ministry, werewolves were too dangerous to be allowed to be around normal people, even if they dosed themselves with Wolfsbane Potion every full moon.

However, the Headmaster had slipped off the hook, using the power his various titles provided him with. Harry found that action downright cowardly; Dumbledore did everything he could to save his own skin, but didn't bother helping Lupin so that the former Professor would not have needed to flee Britain. Due to that, Harry's respect for the ancient wizard had diminished significantly.

* * *

><p>The Sorting had just ended, and Dumbledore stood up to give his start-of-year speech.<p>

"Welcome, welcome to Hogwarts for yet another year!" the Headmaster began, beaming at the students. "Once again, I have an introduction to make. Please welcome our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Moody!"

A man with a mismatching pair of eyes – one normal, the other magical – and a heavily scarred face raised a hand in form of a greeting. Harry could only hope Moody was both a competent teacher and fully human.

"Now, on to something you are all sure to enjoy. I have the pleasure to inform you that this year, Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament!"

Whispers followed that announcement. Harry had no clue as to what the Triwizard Tournament was, but those students who had been raised in the Wizarding World apparently did. There were dozens and dozens of conversations going on in the Hall.

Dumbledore then went over the rather dark history of the Tournament, mentioning some of the participants – Champions – had gotten killed during the Tasks. The Tournament had not been held in a hundred years, despite many failed attempts to revive the tradition. Three magical schools would participate in the Triwizard Tournament; Hogwarts of Britain, Beauxbatons of France and Durmstrang of Norway.

The Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students then entered the Great Hall, along with the Heads of the schools.

Igor Karkaroff, the Headmaster of Durmstrang Institute, was a tall, dark man with a small goatee. His eyes were like two cold, black tunnels.

Madame Maxime, the Headmistress of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, was about the same height as Hagrid. She had short, black hair and brown eyes.

A majority of the French seemed to be girls, whereas most of the Durmstrang students were boys.

After the guests had found seats, Dumbledore spoke again. "Due to the Tournament, this year's Quidditch Cup has been cancelled – but I am certain there will be enough action even without Quidditch."

"The Triwizard Tournament consists of three Tasks, all of which are highly dangerous. Therefore, the Ministry has decided that no one under the age of seventeen will be able to even attempt to enter the Tournament."

"What?"

"That's not fair!"

"Ridiculous!"

"We're not kids!"

As if no one had commented on the restriction, the Headmaster of Hogwarts continued, "There will be one Champion from each school, and those three students shall be chosen by an impartial judge – the Goblet of Fire."

Dumbledore opened the metal box that was sitting on the table, taking out a large wooden goblet that would not have seemed special, had it not had deep blue flames ebbing up the edges.

"The Goblet will be placed in the Entrance Hall, and those desiring to enter their names have a week to do so. I must warn you, though: if you are chosen as a Champion by the Goblet of Fire, there is no turning back. The Goblet's magical contracts are binding. The three Tasks the Champions will be participating in will all require advanced knowledge of magic, advanced skills, and full control of one's emotions. Do not enter on a whim."

* * *

><p>September 1st had been a Thursday, so classes began the very next day.<p>

Harry's decision to quit being an under-achiever was put to a test right away, as the fourth-year Gryffindors' first class was double Potions.

"If I'm chosen as the Hogwarts Champion, I'm going to demand to be allowed to skip the greasy git's class," Ron grumbled, much to the amusement of those sitting around him.

"Are you deaf, _Weasley_?" Harry commented sardonically. "Dumbledore said no one under the age of seventeen will be able to enter. Last time I checked, fourteen was less than seventeen."

"Oh, shut up, _Potter._ No one wanted to hear _your_ opinion, you _murderer_!"

"Calm down, mate," said Seamus Finnigan, putting a hand on the redhead's shoulder. "You don't want to anger him too much – who knows what he might do."

_Oh, so Weasley had managed to brainwash the Irishman._

"Yeah, you'd better listen to Finnigan," Harry said menacingly. "I have talked with Voldemort, after all, and you have absolutely no way of knowing _what_ we discussed." With the threat hanging in the air, Harry left the Hall. He had been bluffing, of course, but the others needn't know that. Let them think Voldemort had taught Harry some very Dark and nasty curses, in addition to the Killing Curse.

The familiar route to the dungeons felt shorter than before, and Harry found himself standing outside the Potions classroom after what felt like mere minutes. Leaning against a stone wall, Harry mentally prepared himself for the ninety minutes he'd spend in the dungeon; it would not be a good idea to face Snape in the angry mood Harry was in, thanks to Weasley and his accusations.

"Trying to get extra credit by showing up early, Potter?"

Groaning inwardly, Harry turned to look at the group of Slytherins who had just arrived, Malfoy in the lead. The blond was smirking in his usual, arrogant way, his gray eyes full of malice.

"No, Malfoy. There are _realistic_ goals to spend my time on, thank you very much."

"Yeah, like passing your exams without that Mudblood helping you all the time," mocked Parkinson. She was obviously expecting Harry to attempt to hex her for calling his late friend Mudblood.

Instead, Harry's tone merely got a little colder. "You could say that to _Weasley_, Parkinson. I never needed Hermione's help as much as he did. Without her, he would never have made it to second year." It was exaggerating, but Harry didn't care. There was a seed of truth in his words, however.

Then, just as the pug-faced girl opened her mouth to launch another nasty comment, a terrible pain in the famous lightning bolt scar made Harry clutch his head in agony. It was worse than anything he had ever experienced; even getting bitten by the Basilisk had been less painful than _this_. However, the pain was gone rather soon. Harry looked up from the floor where he'd apparently fallen, on his knees, only to see the Potions Master towering over him.

_Brilliant, just what I needed..._

With as much dignity as he could muster, Harry stood up, brushing off the dust on his robes.

Something warm and wet was running down his face, a drop soon falling onto the floor. The gray stone turned red as the liquid hit it.

_Shit. Stupid scar..._

"As much as you surely enjoy playing the hero, with a bleeding scar your forehead, Mr. Potter, you are to go to the infirmary _this instant_," Snape said darkly. "Curse scars like yours will not stop bleeding without a professional Healer's help."

Reluctantly looking up to meet the man's onyx gaze, Harry replied, "Yes, sir." With a defeated sigh, the Gryffindor then headed towards the Hospital Wing, feeling the eyes of the rest of the class on him – until the Professor barked at them to enter the classroom.

_Such a _great_ day, today... Thank Merlin it's Friday._

* * *

><p>Madam Pomfrey refused to release Harry before lunch, insisting she needed to be sure the scar would not start bleeding again the instant Harry left her territory.<p>

So, by the time lunch finally rolled around, the fourteen-year-old was more than happy to leave the Hospital Wing.

As Harry entered the Great Hall, more than half of the students there turned to look at him. It seemed the story of what had happened after breakfast had spread fast, even by Hogwarts' standards. Ignoring the stares, Harry sat down at the Gryffindor table, choosing a seat that was as far from everyone as possible.

About halfway through the meal, Harry felt Dumbledore's eyes on him. It was easy enough to recognize the Headmaster's gaze, because there was a unique...feel to it. Dumbledore seemed to want Harry to look up and at him, but the student refused to do so, instead focusing on his Shepherd's Pie.

Harry would have Defence Against the Dark Arts next, and he was looking forward to the lesson. Moody seemed like a competent teacher, if a little eccentric. With his magical eye and wooden leg, Moody was like a warrior, who had been through a lot.

And that turned out to be the case.

The very first thing Professor Moody did after entering the Defence classroom was to bellow at his students.

"Constant Vigilance!"

Almost everyone jumped, and Moody offered them a grimmest of smiles.

"It is my job to arm you against the Dark Arts, although I only have one year to accomplish that. As a former Auror, I find that time entirely too short. Therefore, we will begin with the worst spells there are – the Unforgivable Curses. Can any of you name one of those three?"

Most of the students looked at each other, and around the classroom, but no one seemed inclined to name an Unforgivable.

Finally, Harry raised his hand.

"Mr. Potter?"

"The _Avada Kedavra_ curse, sir."

"Ah, the Killing Curse. The worst of them all, the one spell whose damage cannot be undone." Moody seemed to enjoy the topic of the Unforgivables, though not in a way a Death Eater would. "There's no counter, and only one person in the entire world has ever survived the curse. Now, I believe in practical demonstration, and am going to show you what these three curses do. You cannot know the spells if you have never seen them cast on a living being."

Seemingly oblivious to the horrified whispers among the students, Moody opened a drawer of his desk, pulling out a glass jar with three spiders in it. He took off the lid of the jar, picking up one of the creatures.

"_Engorgio_."

The spider was now thrice as large as it had been, its hairy legs the length of Moody's middle finger.

As the Professor raised his wand again, a few students covered their eyes with their hands, knowing what was about to happen to the spider. Harry, however, watched in fascinated interest.

"_Avada Kedavra_." The words were spoken quietly, yet loud enough for the class to hear. An all-too-familiar jet of green light shot out of Moody's wand, hitting the spider. The insect instantly collapsed, life leaving its magically enlarged body.

Vanishing the dead spider, Moody picked up another one.

"What about the other two Unforgivable Curses? Use one of the three and you'll earn yourself a one-way ticket to Azkaban."

Neville half-raised a shaking hand, looking absolutely terrified.

"Yes, Mr. Longbottom?"

"The-there's th-the Cru-Cruciatus Curse, sir," the Gryffindor said in a small voice.

"Indeed. Nasty one - the cruellest of spells, if you ask me. _Engorgio_."

"_Crucio_."

The spider started to writhe on Moody's palm, and had it been human, Harry was sure it would have been screaming.

Not a second too soon, Moody lifted the curse, leaving the spider lying limp.

"That is what you will be facing, should you ever have the misfortune of being face to face with Dark wizards. The Cruciatus Curse is a favourite among the Death Eaters, and those bastards know where the curse hurts the most. Constant Vigilance!"

Again the class jumped.

"One more curse, the most useful of the three. Anyone?"

Terry Boot raised his hand, obviously relieved the worst of the three curses had already been covered.

"Mr. Boot?"

"The Imperius Curse, Professor."

"Yes, another favourite among Death Eaters. Handy, isn't it, claiming they only worked for You-Know-Who because they were under the Imperius."

A third spider was taken out of the jar.

"_Imperio_."

The spider began tap-dancing.

"Complete control – I can make it do anything. Do you see how clever it was to use this curse as an excuse for getting caught with the Dark Mark on your arm?"

All of a sudden, the spider leapt at Weasley, landing on the boy's face. The redhead, being afraid of all things spider, froze. Harry found the scene rather amusing, but kept his merriment to himself.

"One bite from it, and you would be dead," Moody said, his eyes on Weasley but words addressed to the class in general. "Its poison is more effective than a Basilisk's – and I assume you all know that that is saying something."

_Yeah, I do_, Harry thought. He would never forget the Chamber of Secrets and Slytherin's Basilisk. Only Fawkes' tears had saved his life that day.

The end of class bell then rang, and Moody lifted the Imperius, Summoning the spider back to him.

"Next week, we'll be continuing on the practical. Come prepared. Constant Vigilance!"

The class jumped before leaving the classroom.

* * *

><p>History of Magic was as boring as ever, but Harry forced himself to stay awake and take notes. He took great pleasure in noticing that the rest of the Gryffindors, Weasley in particular, had fallen asleep five minutes into the lesson.<p>

After Binns finally ended his lecture for the day, and glided back through the blackboard, Harry was relieved. However, the relief soon vanished as he realized he had no idea about the homework Snape and Sprout had assigned. And while the Hufflepuff was perfectly approachable, going to Snape to ask about the homework would have been nothing short of a suicide mission, especially for Harry.

In the end, luck seemed to be on Harry's side. He was in the common room, writing his History essay, when Neville approached him.

"Harry?"

Looking up, Harry was surprised to see Neville standing there. "Hi, Neville. What's up?"

"I – I thought I'd give you the homework for Potions and Herbology," Neville said a little nervously, "seeing as you missed both of those classes."

Genuine gratefulness flooded Harry's face and voice. "Thanks, I'd really appreciate that! In fact, I was about to go find Professor Sprout...but I had no idea how to find out what Snape assigned."

The two then spent the rest of the evening working on their essays, helping each other when needed. Harry discovered Neville was truly gifted at Herbology, knowing a large number of facts not in their text.

Weasley made a couple attempts at getting Neville to join his group of friends, but the Longbottom heir determinedly declined the invitations.

The redhead did not have all of the Gryffindors behind him, it seemed.

* * *

><p><strong>End of Chapter Note: <strong>I know the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students did not originally arrive at the start of the term, but I changed that so that I could have the First Task on Halloween. 


	2. II

**Author's Note: **Yes, the foreign students and Heads have accents, however I am not going to write them. I know I wouldn't be any good at it, so I won't even try.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter Two – The Champions<span>**

During the weekend, most of Harry's Housemates seemed to side with Weasley, so the green-eyed teen spent most of his time in the library, wanting to avoid the unpleasant atmosphere in the common room.

Harry decided to learn new spells to add to his repertoire – it could not hurt to know hexes, jinxes, charms and even curses not included in the Hogwarts curriculum. He had already found several defensive, plus some offensive ones. Harry had written down the spells he wanted to practice, and there were over a dozen incantations on the list.

In addition, the Gryffindor had attempted to find information on curse scars, but that search had proved fruitless. Either scars like his were incredibly rare and nothing had been written about them, or there _was_ information, but it was deemed inappropriate for just any student to read.

In other words, Harry wanted to visit the Restricted Section. However, to do that he was going to need a signed permission slip from a Professor. Without Lockhart around, it might prove considerably difficult to get one. Harry was determined to succeed, though.

* * *

><p>Transfiguration was still a somewhat difficult subject for Harry, but he had found he could perform rather well in McGonagall's class. In fact, it was fairly enjoyable, turning items and animals into something different.<p>

Charms was fun. Harry easily mastered the spells Flitwick taught the class, and as a result was often called forward to demonstrate the proper way to cast them. Harry was more than a little surprised to realize he actually enjoyed being better than the others. To him, the new feeling of superiority brought with it some sort of sick pleasure. At first, that had startled Harry, but as the week went on, the unpleasant feeling slowly reduced to nothingness.

Snape had barely managed to conceal his surprise when Harry had handed in his Potions essay – the one Neville had informed him of. Apparently the Potions Master had been sure Harry would be too proud to ask anyone about the homework for the class the boy hated. To top it off, as Harry had gotten his essay back, there had been a spiky 'E' in the upper right corner of the parchment. It had been the first time Harry had ever received a passing grade in Potions – obviously excepting the end of year exams -, and the Gryffindor knew it must have galled Snape, having to grade his most hated student's essay that high – especially when Harry had not even attended the lesson .

Defence Against the Dark Arts was something completely different. Moody had moved on to casting the Imperius Curse on the students, making them sing, dance, jump around, imitate animals and much more. By the time Tuesday's double lesson rolled around no one had yet managed to resist Moody's curse.

The Professor was calling on the students in alphabetical order, and the previous lesson had ended with Parvati Patil running around the classroom, singing the national anthem of Britain in a shrill, soprano voice that most definitely was not hers.

So, on Tuesday Harry was the first one to get hit with the Imperius.

'_Jump around like a frog.'_

Harry began to obediently bend his knees, readying himself for hopping around on all fours, when a strange voice in his mind halted his progress.

_Now why would I do that? Completely pointless._

'_Jump around like a frog!' _The order got stronger and more commanding.

_No, I don't think I will._

'_**Jump around like a frog!**_' The command was now loud enough to make Harry's ears hurt. But still he refused to obey, the unfamiliar voice having given him strength of will.

"No, I will not!" His refusal came out as an audible shout, and Harry opened his eyes. Blinking, he saw that he was sitting on his heels, his hands almost touching the stone floor of the classroom.

"That was something, exactly what I'm trying to teach you lot," Moody said, obviously pleased Harry had fought his spell. "However, that is not nearly good enough. You have potential, Potter, so make use of it. Let's try again. _Imperio!_"

And so it went on, until Harry was able to completely shake off the curse as soon as it hit him. The old Auror told the other students to simply do what Harry had done – but none of them proved capable of resisting the Imperius. That only worked to increase Harry's newfound feeling of superiority. He knew it probably wasn't healthy to think himself above his classmates, but he could not help it. Besides, he was reluctant to get rid of a feeling that was so _pleasant_.

* * *

><p>The day of the Champions' selection was stormy, lightning lighting up the dark sky every few minutes, accompanied by the loud rumble of thunder.<p>

The Potions dungeon was chillier than usual, the stormy weather causing the temperature to drop. Luckily there were so many hot cauldrons in the room, the magical flames under them warming the students, most of whom had their Hogwarts scarf around their neck.

They were focusing on antidotes this year, and that day they were brewing a potion that would counter a number of the most common poisons.

For a fourth-year potion, the recipe was rather complex, and the tiniest mistake could cause an explosion. In addition to that, preparing the ingredients was extremely time-consuming and precise work.

All things considered it was no wonder half of the class ended up in the infirmary before the end of the lesson. Those who managed to complete the potion were obviously relieved to cork a sample vial and take it to Snape's desk for grading. Harry actually wiped a few drops of sweat from his forehead. He had ended up being the only Gryffindor not having to leave for the Hospital Wing, and it felt like a sweet triumph. Without Hermione around, Weasley had blown up his cauldron only fifteen minutes into the class. His face covered in deep purple goo, the redhead failed miserably at ignoring the positively gleeful Slytherins and Snape's mocking comments about hopeless cases. The boy had left the dungeon in an angry huff.

After his last class of the day – History of Magic – Harry headed towards the library. He knew the Triwizard Champions would be chosen after dinner, and he could not have been less interested in being in the Hall when the Goblet would make its decisions. Harry would found out who had been chosen soon enough, as most of the students were bound to be discussing the names for the next two weeks, at the very least.

Hiding himself behind a small mountain of books, Harry took out his list and began to read. This time, he had chosen a book on purely offensive magic. Glancing at the table of contents, Harry immediately spotted several hexes and curses that sounded promising. The book was turning out to be a gem among other, less valuable stones – the needle in the haystack.

Excited, Harry turned to the first chapter, which was on the Blasting Curse. The spell would cause anything that came in contact with it to explode. While the curse wouldn't be too great to use in a duel, it might be handy if Harry ever found himself backed against a wall, or in a number of other scenarios.

* * *

><p>The Great Hall of Hogwarts was completely silent – a rarity in and of itself. The reason for the silence was the Goblet of Fire, which, according to Dumbledore, would be announcing the three Champions' names in a matter of minutes.<p>

Dumbledore had already introduced the judges of the Tournament: Bartemius Crouch Sr., Ludo Bagman, Igor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime and himself. Crouch was the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, while Bagman was the Head of Department of Magical Games and Sports.

Suddenly the flames in the Goblet turned scarlet, and a slip of parchment was spat out of the fire. Dumbledore caught the parchment.

"The Beauxbatons Champion is... Fleur Delacour!"

Deafening applause followed a blonde girl, as she stood up from her seat at the Ravenclaw table and walked up to Dumbledore. The old wizard congratulated the young woman – whose school mates were looking downright miserable, some of the girls even crying – and showed her to a small antechamber just off the Hall.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts then grabbed a second slip of parchment as it was spat out of the bright flames.

"The Durmstrang Champion...is Viktor Krum!"

A dark, somewhat clumsy-looking boy stood up from among his school mates, and made his way to Dumbledore. Karkaroff could be heard cheering loudly in the background.

As soon as Krum had disappeared through the door leading to the antechamber, the Goblet's fire turned scarlet for the third time.

Dumbledore read the name on the half-charred piece of parchment, his expression changing from merry to grave. Everyone else in the Hall held their breath, eager to hear the name of the Hogwarts Champion.

When Dumbledore finally spoke, his voice was just as grave as the look on his face.

"The Hogwarts Champion is…Harry Potter."

"_What!"_

"But Potter's underage!"

"Yeah, he's only fourteen – you can't possibly allow him to compete!"

"Where is he, anyway?"

That last question brought everyone's attention to the Gryffindor table, hundreds of pairs of eyes scanning the table in search of the unmistakable form of the Boy-Who-Lived. It was in vain – Harry Potter was not present in the Hall.

"Please go find Mr. Potter," Dumbledore muttered to the Professor standing the closest to him, "he's most likely in the library." An irritated grunt and the sound of robes billowing told Dumbledore that his Potions Master had been assigned the unpleasant – in the younger man's opinion – task of fetching Harry.

* * *

><p>Harry had finished reading about the Blasting Curse and carefully copied down the incantation and required wand movements. He had then moved on to the next chapter in the book, one that discussed the Reductor Curse – a spell somewhat similar to the <em>Confringo<em>.

"Potter! Get over here, _now_!"

Looking up from the text, Harry peered around his wall of books – only to see Snape glaring at him. The man could not have made it any more obvious that he did not want to be there, but had had no choice.

Knowing better than to disobey Snape when the man used _that_ tone, Harry closed the book, marking the page he'd been on, and walked around the table to the irate Professor. Before he could say a word, Snape turned on his heel, storming out of the library. He was striding so fast that Harry had to half-jog to keep up with him.

"What is it, sir?"

"Something you are going to enjoy, Potter. Just the extra fame and glory you have surely been looking for," Snape sneered in his customary way. "Though I have to wonder how you got past the Age Line…"

It took Harry a few moments to put the pieces together, to understand what Snape was talking about.

When realization hit him, it hit hard.

"What! No, no, that's impossible! Please tell me I misunderstood – that my name did not appear from the Goblet of Fire." It couldn't be, it just could not. Harry refused to believe it unless he was shown definite proof.

"Your name did appear from the Goblet of Fire." Snape had obviously picked up on the feelings that were currently attempting to drown the Gryffindor – disbelief, anger and frustration – for he did not claim Harry was lying or just pretending to be upset.

The teen started grumbling under his breath, and didn't stop until they entered the Great Hall. Harry ignored the muttering and staring students around him, approaching Dumbledore, who was still holding the third piece of parchment in his hand.

"I am not competing in the Tournament," Harry stated. "I never put my name in the Goblet of Fire, and had absolutely no intention to do so."

"But of course he's lying!" someone shouted, and others soon joined them.

"Yeah, Potter's always been after fame and publicity!"

Harry whirled around, about to say just what he thought of being famous, but Dumbledore didn't let him. Instead, the old wizard took the teen to the antechamber, the rest of the judges and most of the staff following. As soon as the door shut behind the last person to enter, Harry pulled free from his Headmaster, taking a few steps back. He spied two other students standing not far away, and correctly assumed they were the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang Champion.

"I will not compete," Harry repeated angrily. "You cannot make me, not when I never even entered my name in the damn Goblet."

"You're lying," said Karkaroff coldly, his eyes full of suppressed anger.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the Headmaster of Durmstrang. "I am not lying, _sir_. Why would I possibly want to compete in a Tournament that obviously requires a lot more knowledge and skill than I possess?" Admitting one's weakness was an effective tactic, and it did not fail Harry. Karkaroff backed off, closing his mouth. However, the man was not the only one suspicious of Harry.

"How did you do it, boy? How can a mere child have gotten around the Age Line?" It was Madame Maxime, the French Headmistress. Harry never got a chance to reply before the most unlikely person to step in expressed his opinion on the matter.

"Mr. Potter is not lying, as surprising as that is," came Snape's drawling voice from behind Harry.

"And how do you know that?" Madame Maxime asked in a disdainful voice, sniffing in a superior way. "You are just defending the boy because he's your student."

Harry snorted loudly at that, as the accusation was so ridiculous. "Excuse me, _Madame_, but that most definitely is not true." Everyone turned to look at the fourth-year, their expressions ranging from angry to amused.

"While I don't know _why_ Professor Snape decided to step in, I do know it was not because of that reason."

"I would have to agree on that," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling.

"Indeed," Snape confirmed, sounding slightly insulted by Maxime's accusation. "I was merely pointing out a fact, so that we would not have to spend the rest of the evening in this room. I, for one, have better things to do than argue about the truthfulness of Potter's words... If you must know, I am a Legilimens, hence my ability to sense lies."

"Well then, who _did_ enter Mr. Potter's name in the Goblet?" McGonagall asked the room in general. "It must have been someone of age -"

"Before you ask, no, I did not ask an older student to enter my name," Harry interjected. "And I still refuse to compete."

"You have no choice, Mr. Potter," said then Crouch, speaking for the first time. "You are, as of tonight, a Triwizard Champion. The rules are very clear: once a name is entered into the Goblet of Fire, there is no turning back."

Harry wasn't about to give in so easily. "And what happens if I simply do not compete? Are there repercussions, or something?" he asked defiantly.

Crouch shook his head. "No, there are not. However, the Goblet's magic will make sure you show up at the Tasks, no matter what."

Dumbledore placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Harry, perhaps – "

Shaking the hand off, Harry turned to glare at the Headmaster. "I don't care. I'm not going to do it."

"Mr. Potter!" McGonagall sounded scandalized by Harry's behaviour.

Sighing, Harry faced his Head of House. "I'm sick and tired of others controlling my life – and this was the last straw. I will not compete in the Triwizard Tournament, period." With that, the fourteen-year-old stalked out of the antechamber, leaving behind a ringing silence.

"Mr. Potter will find himself participating in the First Task, come October 31st," said Crouch quietly. "Nothing short of him dying can prevent that."

* * *

><p>Harry spent the weekend in the library, only leaving to eat and sleep. He was determined to not think about the blasted Tournament. Hogwarts was now lacking a Champion – so what. It was not Harry's fault someone had decided to enter <em>his<em> name, or that the Goblet had chosen him over more than a few seventh-years.

The list of spells Harry intended to learn had grown quite a lot, and he would soon need a place to practice them in. Unfortunately, Harry had no idea where he could find such a place. Sure, he could use the Marauder's Map, but having to glance at it every ten seconds or so would effectively ruin his concentration.

No, Harry would need a place where he would not be interrupted. But whom to ask about one? Someone who knew the castle as well as possible…someone who was not unfamiliar with hidden doors and secret passages… and it would not be easy to find someone like that. Nevertheless, Harry was not about to give up right away.

On Sunday evening Harry was heading towards his dormitory, when he got cornered in a poorly lit corridor.

Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnigan and Lavender Brown were all wearing malicious expressions, their wands drawn as they forced Harry to back up against a wall.

"What do you want?" Harry hissed at the trio. He was not in the best of moods, and _this_ did nothing to boost it.

"To teach you a lesson," replied Finnigan, while the other two nodded their heads.

"We're going to make sure you won't disgrace Gryffindor," added Weasley, half-growling. "Since you somehow wormed your way in the Triwizard Tournament, you'd better act like the _Champion_ you are!"

Harry, knowing it would be useless trying to convince the three that he had not entered his name, merely rolled his eyes. "If Crouch, Dumbledore and the others failed to make me agree to compete, I'm afraid there's no chance _you_ are going to succeed." He then pushed past Brown without another word.

Five seconds later there was a flash of light and a grunt. Harry turned around – and was glad he did.

Moody had appeared in the corridor, and he was pointing his wand at a red-coloured weasel.

"I'll teach you to attack from behind," the Defence Professor told the obviously terrified omnivore that was suddenly lifted into the air, and then back down. After that had been repeated a few times, each bounce accompanied with an insult from the ex-Auror, Harry left the scene, unable to suppress his laughter.

_That should teach Weasley! Oh, I can't wait till the story of Moody's punishment spreads around the school… perhaps I could do something to speed up the process…_

* * *

><p><strong>End of Chapter Notes: <strong>Teehee, I couldn't resist including a punishment similar to the Amazing Bouncing Ferret in canon. :D_**  
><strong>_I know this chapter probably raised some questions - and that was my intention. :P

Until next time!_**  
><strong>_


	3. III

**Author's Notes: **Sorry, no First Task in this chapter.  
>Thanks for the reviews, they're very much appreciated. :)<p>

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter Three – Defying Dumbledore<span>**

During breakfast the following morning, thirteen students in the Great Hall received identical, unsigned letters that described – in as much detail as was possible – the events leading to and including Ron Weasley's turning into a weasel. All thirteen of the recipients were known to love gossip and rumours, which was exactly why they had been chosen for the task of spreading the tale.

Oh yes, Harry had spent quite a lot of time, picking those thirteen girls from among the hundreds of students. The story of Weasley the Weasel was bound to spread like a wildfire.

From the whispering and giggling that started after the letters had been read, Harry knew his plan was indeed a success.

* * *

><p>Defence Against the Dark Arts was simply perfect. Moody had given up trying to teach the most thickheaded students to shake off the Imperius, and instead moved on to defensive spells, starting with a shield that would stop a number of minor hexes and jinxes.<p>

Harry, unsurprisingly but to his delight, conjured a solid shield on his third try.

"Now, we're going to have to test that shield of yours, Potter," Moody said in his growling voice. "Come on, let's see if it holds."

Harry walked to the front of the class, his wand drawn and ready. A small voice in his head told him he should not feel as confident as he did – he was going to face a former Auror, after all. However, Harry simply ignored the voice as he took a defensive posture.

"I'm ready, Professor," he said, the incantation for the shield spell ready to leave his lips.

"All right then. _Rictusempra!_"

The Tickling Charm had no chance against Harry's shield that had appeared before Moody had even finished the incantation for his spell.

As the jet of silver light dissipated into nothing, Harry once again experienced the feeling of superiority. That only got stronger as his shield stopped two more jinxes, both of which had been cast nonverbally and with more power behind them.

"Very good, Potter," the Professor said. "That last Tripping Jinx was as powerful as I could make it, and your shield still held. Take ten points to Gryffindor for impressing me."

Genuine surprise colouring his voice, Harry replied, "Thank you, Professor."

Fifteen minutes later, Moody called forward some of the other students, who had managed to produce a solid shield. The first three students' shields held against the low-powered _Rictusempra_, but crumbled as a more powerful Bat-Bogey Hex hit them. At each fail, Harry's smugness only increased, quickly reaching an unhealthy level.

* * *

><p>Transfiguration was much <em>fun<em>. Today, they were turning weasels into slippers.

Or, that was they were supposed to be doing, but Weasley decided to open his mouth in complaint.

"Uh, Professor...do I really have to work on this _weasel_?"

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "What do you have against that, Mr. Weasley?"

Attempting to ignore the snickers around the classroom, the redhead replied angrily, "You're going to hear about anyway, Professor, so I might as well tell you how I was turned into a weasel practically identical to this one." He pointed at the small animal on his desk, the colour of its red fur matching his hair. "And it was all because of _Potter_."

Harry looked up from his former weasel, having decided to make the slipper he'd already created a bit fancier by adding small red bows on it. "It's not my fault you attacked me from behind, Weasley."

"All right, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, stay after class," McGonagall said, sounding none too happy. Harry nodded at her, and then returned to his slipper.

Forty minutes later the end of lesson bell rang, and the students exited the classroom. Everyone except Harry and Weasley, that is.

McGonagall looked at them sternly. "Now, what was that about you attacking Mr. Potter, and getting turned into a weasel, Mr. Weasley?"

The redhead scowled. "Well, I was having a _conversation_ with Potter, when he suddenly decided to leave. Then, Professor Moody appeared and turned me into a bloody weasel. I never attacked anyone; Potter's just trying to appear innocent."

"And what say you, Mr. Potter?"

"Weasley, Finnigan and Brown cornered me when I was returning from the library. I soon grew tired of their threats, and left. Seconds later, I heard Professor Moody say something about 'teaching to attack from behind'. I turned around, only to see a red weasel where Weasley had stood."

The Head of Gryffindor looked furious. "Very well. Mr. Weasley, you are going to serve a detention with Mr. Filch for attempting to attack a fellow student. Also, fifteen points will be taken from Gryffindor. Mr. Potter, you may go." _And Alastor is apparently in need of a reminder!_

Harry left the classroom, heading for the Great Hall for lunch. It was turning out to be a great day.

* * *

><p>Two weeks and two hours later Harry was in the Potions classroom, brewing an antidote to Polyjuice Potion, though he didn't really see why Polyjuice would need to be countered. It would wear off in an hour anyway.<p>

So far there had been zero molten or exploding cauldrons – something fairly unusual in the fourth-year Gryffindor-Slytherin class.

Harry had just added his powdered snake fangs when someone knocked on the classroom door. That, too, was uncommon.

Snape was in the middle of terrorizing Neville, so he simply waved his wand at the door, opening it – and revealing a smiling Dumbledore.

"I am sorry, Severus, but Mr. Potter is needed elsewhere," the Headmaster said. "We cannot begin the Wand Weighing Ceremony with one of the Champions absent."

"You're not going to find a Champion in this room, sir," Harry hissed without looking up from his potion he was stirring. He felt everyone's eyes on him, but ignored them.

"I believe I just did, Mr. Potter." Dumbledore's tone had lost a few degrees in warmth, but Harry still refused to leave for a stupid ceremony, where he'd only get stared at.

A silence followed. Harry was surprised the Potions Master had not said anything.

No one said a word for a few minutes. Dumbledore was staring at Harry, his blue eyes no longer twinkling; Harry was cutting his daisy roots while pretending the Headmaster was not there; Snape was walking around the dungeon, breathing down the students' necks; and the other students gradually returned to their brewing because they wanted to finish their antidotes before they'd run out of time.

Amazingly, Dumbledore eventually gave up, as he was gone when Harry finally looked up from his cauldron that was now full of emerald-green potion.

_I actually managed to avoid participating in that wand weighing thing? Must've been nothing of crucial importance - either that or Dumbledore finally realized I'm not going to compete._

For the remainder of the lesson, Harry kept being at the receiving end of various looks; disbelieving, angry, and even admiring ones.

* * *

><p>Potter had successfully defied Dumbledore? Severus had to grudgingly admit that that had been completely unexpected and highly surprising. The old man rarely, if ever, gave up like that – Severus should know. How many times had he applied for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, only to be denied the position every single time? How many times had he warned the Headmaster about Lupin, only to be ignored? Too many.<p>

Whatever respect Severus had once had for Dumbledore had completely disappeared three years ago, when Potter had first come to Hogwarts. Ever since that day the old coot had been favouring the Gryffindor House and its so-called Golden Boy.

Now, Severus was not a hypocrite – he could easily admit he favoured his own House over the other three ones, only he was not so glaringly obvious about it. He might not take points from Slytherin, but neither did he award the Snakes over a hundred points the way Dumbledore had during the Leaving Feast after Potter and his little friends had "stopped" Quirrell from stealing the Philosopher's Stone for the Dark Lord. Severus knew perfectly well that the stuttering fool would never have been able to get the Stone from the Mirror of Erised – Dumbledore had simply wanted to let Potter play the hero.

Considering the pampering the brat no doubt received at his relatives', Dumbledore's special treatment of the boy could not possibly have positive effects. Potter would only get more and more like his father, the insufferable James Potter.

Then again, Potter seemed to have changed over the summer, and the changes had been for the better. Perhaps losing his mutt of a godfather had deflated the boy's ego. Or maybe it had been the werewolf killing the know-it-all Granger. In any case, coming face to face with loss had obviously stripped Potter of some of his Gryffindor attitude and behaviour.

The boy had also mysteriously gotten less hopeless at Potions. He kept brewing _adequate_ potions, and writing _acceptable_ essays. Despite that, Severus had been tempted to keep giving Potter fail grades, but had been stopped by his own sense of fairness. At first, it had been infuriating having to mark the boy's essays with an Acceptable or Exceeds Expectations. Soon, though, Severus had started thinking it was thanks to him that Potter had finally grasped the basics of the subject. It was the very same approach Severus had taken to Granger and her performance in his class.

Luckily the rest of the Gryffindors were just as hopeless as before – it would have been nothing short of a catastrophe, had all of the Lions suddenly stopped exploding and melting down their cauldrons.

* * *

><p>Harry was halfway through his breakfast when the post arrived. Hundreds of owls flew in through the open window of the Great Hall, making quite a bit of noise.<p>

A nondescript brown owl landed in front of Harry, delivering his copy of the _Daily Prophet_. Harry quickly removed the rolled newspaper from the owl's leg, and the bird took flight again.

As he caught sight of the front page of the _Prophet_, Harry felt a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. The man he had hired had obviously succeeded in his mission – not that Harry expected anything less. A small mountain of gold coins had been included in the deal, after all.

**HARRY POTTER'S FAMILY ATTACKED VICIOUSLY!  
>By: Rita Skeeter<strong>

_Late last evening, there was a nasty attack on a Muggle family living in Little Whinging, Surrey. This reporter was lucky enough to find an eyewitness who had seen everything that went on in the house.  
>Vernon, Petunia and Dudley Dursley, the last living relatives of the famous Boy-Who-Lived, were enjoying the peace and quiet of the neighbourhood, when their house was suddenly broken in. A masked man had soon had the family cornered in the large living room of the house. The stranger was wielding a Muggle weapon – somewhat like a wand made of metal – plus a knife, and he tormented the three Dursleys for a good twenty minutes.<br>The Muggle equivalents of Aurors were called by the witness, but they did not arrive until after significant damage had been done by the masked stranger.  
>All three Dursleys have been taken to Saint Mungo's for treatment and memory modification.<em>

_We can only guess what Harry Potter is thinking, now that his home has been so brutally attacked. This reporter sincerely hopes the Boy-Who-Lived is well, and not too shocked by what has happened to his relatives._

Harry smirked at the article, more than happy with it. If Skeeter only knew her source was none other than the attacker... Philip had done a great job, leaving the Dursleys alive but seriously injured. Harry could have told him to off the bastards, but had not wanted to, because he intended to have his personal revenge as soon as he turned seventeen and was legally allowed to use magic outside of school.

Before Harry had the chance to turn the page and continue reading the newspaper, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Harry, my boy, I believe it is best you accompany me to my office," Dumbledore's voice said quietly. Biting back an angry reply, Harry stood up from the table, following the Headmaster out of the Hall.

They walked in silence, until the door of Dumbledore's office closed behind Harry. The fourth-year took a seat after he was asked to, and looked at the older wizard expectantly. He honestly wanted to know whether Dumbledore would deem the Dursleys unfit to "take care" of Harry anymore.

"I know you must be shocked," the Headmaster began softly. "It is always tough when one's family is attacked."

Harry said nothing. He could hardly say he didn't care, after all.

With a small sigh, Dumbledore continued, "From what the Healer responsible for your relatives told me, all three Dursleys will make a full recovery. Their memories of the attack have been removed, and you will be able to return to Privet Drive in June."

"What if the attacker decides to visit again?" Harry asked, despite knowing perfectly well that Philip would never even return to Great Britain.

Dumbledore's smile faded away, his expression hardening. "He will not be able to come within one hundred yards of the house. There is a new set of wards around your home now, and no one, wizard or Muggle, with ill intent shall be able to get past them."

Harry saw an opportunity, and seized it. "There were no wards against Muggle criminals until now? The Dursleys don't even have a burglar alarm, let alone security cameras."

"Ah, well, when the wards were first cast, our main focus was to make sure Death Eaters would not be able to get to you, my boy." There was a hint of discomfort in Dumbledore's voice – exactly what Harry had been hoping to hear when he asked his question. The old wizard was not infallible, but it was incredibly difficult to get him to admit it. Harry decided to continue on the subject.

"But that's stupid! I mean, the Death Eaters are a large threat, but so are Muggles. The number of murders and less serious crimes committed in Little Whinging is higher than anywhere else in the country! One of the Dursleys' neighbours was killed not three years ago, in fact."

"There is no need to use that tone with me, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said sternly, his eyes without their usual twinkle.

"Sorry, sir," Harry hastily apologized, not meaning a syllable of what he said. It was fun pointing out Dumbledore's mistakes. "I guess I'm just a bit upset over the attack." _As if._

"Understandable, my boy." Dumbledore was back to kind tones and twinkling eyes. "Now, there is another matter we need to discuss. Why are you so set against competing in the Triwizard Tournament, Harry?"

"Because I don't want any more fame or popularity, and neither do I want to compete in a tournament that's all about reputation and money. I will rather have as ordinary a school year as possible – and I'll have more than enough to do with just the lessons, homework and exams. I don't need a bloody Triwizard Tournament to waste time on!"

"But as a Champion you need not take the end of year exams, my boy."

That was news to Harry. However, he realized he _wanted_ to take the damn exams – he didn't want to pass his fourth year just like that. _Merlin, I'm becoming more and more like Hermione... not that that's necessarily a bad thing._

"Well, all the more reason for me to refuse to be a Champion," Harry said determinedly. Dumbledore looked gobsmacked, so the teen went on. "I want to pass this year because I worked hard, not because someone put my name in a stupid goblet. What would be the point of even attending lessons if I skipped the exams? Nothing, that's what."

Dumbledore recovered from his surprise, and swiftly changed the subject. "Your Professors are impressed by how well you are doing in class this year, Harry. From what I have been told, you have suddenly become better in all of your subjects, except for Divination. What brought the change about, my boy?"

_Would you please stop calling me that?_ "Dunno," Harry lied smoothly. "Maybe I'm just grasping things better this year."

"Perhaps the events of last year affected you more strongly than you realized?" Dumbledore suggested. "It is not unheard of that the death of a close friend causes changes in one's personality."

"No, that's not the case. The 'changes' happened _after_ I had gotten over Hermione and Sirius' deaths," Harry said confidently. "I should know myself better than anyone."

"Sirius did not die, Harry. He –"

"Yes, I know what a Dementor's Kiss is! In my opinion, though, Sirius is as good as dead. He's a soulless shell with a fully functional human body, rotting in Azkaban! I hardly consider that living!" Harry shouted, and left the office before Dumbledore could lock the door or say another word.

_How dare he! First he scolds me for not being the perfect Golden Boy he's trying to make me into, then he has the audacity to suggest I don't know myself, and finally attempts to _teach_ me what a Dementor's Kiss does, as if I did not know it. How could I ever look up to that man? Seriously, he didn't even take into account that Muggles often attack other Muggles – and that they won't be stopped by wards designed to keep out wizards. I can only hope it's because of his age... though that is extremely unlikely. He's just a manipulative old man, who refuses to acknowledge his flaws until someone points them out._

And now Harry was late for Transfiguration, by more than twenty minutes. McGonagall was going to be _delighted_.

* * *

><p><strong>End of Chapter Note: <strong>A bit shorter, this one. However, chapter four should make up for it. The First Task is just 'round the corner. ;)  
>Stay tuned for the update!<br>PS. You would not believe how many times I wrote "ferret" instead of "weasel". -.-


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